


If You Can Kiss Anyone, It's Me

by Transom (ThegoodshipRickyl)



Series: First Kisses [1]
Category: The Clash
Genre: Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Mick is uptight as usual, Morning Sex, No Strings Attached, Paul firmly believes that keeping things casual does not preclude intimacy, dash of angst, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:58:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18663598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThegoodshipRickyl/pseuds/Transom
Summary: What starts off as nothing more than friends just helping each other out, ends up as… friends just helping each other out. But with kissing! And maybe some feelings.





	If You Can Kiss Anyone, It's Me

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought this pairing needed a little bit of love. It was also really fun to explore the tension between Mick being his uptight self and Paul's more laid-back attitude. Hope you enjoy.

Paul awoke in the hotel bed with a groggy groan, stretching his arms and legs out before snuggling down deeper into the bed. It felt good, wrapped up in the warmth of the blanket, but there was something else nagging at his sleep-addled brain that wouldn’t allow him to drift back off like he wanted to. There was a weight in the bed next to him, solid and still, obviously a person, but who, Paul hadn't the foggiest. Paul did find that he was rather wrapped around whoever it was, and he sent up a silent thanks that they both seemed to be mostly clothed, a matter that was of his utmost concern, at least until he found out the identity of his bedmate. 

 

Cautiously, so as not to wake them, Paul pushed away far enough to see who it was that he was cuddling so closely. He was just able to discern a long, slender figure with a lot of curly black hair, and then his mate Mick was rolling over to face him. 

 

He looked like he had been awake for at least a little while already, if the exasperated look he gave Paul was any indication. Bleariness still lingered in his eyes, peering out from the cloud of his sleep-tousled hair and the blanket that he held tucked up to his nose. “’Bout time you’re awake,” he said, muffled and sleepy, but genial. 

 

Sheepishly, Paul began to disentangle himself. It was during that process, however, that he realized with a start exactly _why_ he had woken up feeling so good. 

 

“Yeah, you’ve been poking at me with that thing for ages,” Mick drawled, far too casual for Paul's taste, as he slowly looked down in horror, then gaped back at Mick, completely frozen with shock. 

 

Thankfully, the heat of shame was quick to thaw him, and, mortified, Paul spluttered an apology while trying to free himself from the tangle of the blanket _and_ Mick with as little further embarrassment as he could manage. Before he could make his escape, though, Mick stopped him, reaching out to wrap a gentle but strong hand around his wrist as he once again went as still as a frightened animal. 

 

“Hey. It’s okay. You don’t have to leave.” 

 

At the sound of his voice, kind and understanding, Paul's skin rippled with goosepimples and he went cold all over again. He blinked dumbly at him, while Mick refused to avert his eyes, and the pair of them could have been confused for statues if it wasn't for Mick cautiously moving his hand up and down Paul’s arm. 

 

Mick's expression softened, perhaps in reaction to Paul's shallow breathing and frightened look. His voice was a careful whisper, like walking on an icy pond. “Would you like some help?” 

 

“Mick,” Paul breathed. “You don’t know what you’re -” 

 

“I _know_ what I'm asking.” Mick leant a fraction further into his space, his eyes dark and serious. “I promise, it’s alright. Stay.” 

 

Paul obeyed, but it felt utterly surreal, like the world had stopped spinning for a moment and they had been thrown together into limbo. He had to take a furtive glance at their surroundings, partly to make sure that they were alone, partly to make sure that he wasn't in some uncannily realistic dream. After determining that it was indeed just the two of them, and that they were operating in the same universe as they always had, he slowly sank back into the bed, watching Mick's face for any sign that he had changed his mind. He didn't appear to have done so, and in fact, he seemed closer than before, his hand still resting lightly on Paul's arm. Paul closed his eyes, giving in to the warmth and fighting the shame that welled up. Believing was difficult, though, when everything was so close and felt so good, and his body continued to react, despite his best efforts to quell it. 

 

“Here,” Mick said softly, venturing his hand down under the blanket. “Let me help you.” 

 

Well, so much for quelling it. At Mick’s offer, his cock gave a twitch, and he sucked in a breath as Mick reached between them and just brushed it with his fingertips, warm even through the material of the trousers that he had apparently fallen asleep wearing. Memories started to come back to him of the two of them landing in bed together the night before, probably pissed, likely stoned, definitely exhausted. It wasn’t just that it had happened - it was common for various permutations of band members and mates to end up in the same bed after a long day, especially if certain substances were involved - it was that it had happened to him and Mick for the first time, just the two of them, and the thought quickly tangled in on itself in his already short-circuited mind. 

 

Overwhelmed, Paul couldn't hold back a whimper, a sound that Mick seemed to take for fear, stilling his hand. “This is okay, right?” 

 

Paul nodded and swallowed. “I want you to.” He gave a shiver as he said it out loud and made it real, and his hips pressed up into Mick’s hand. 

 

Mick pressed back, and the surer contact made Paul hiss and bite his lip to prevent the release of another incriminating sound. Mick smirked, not unkindly, and began to palm at him through the layers of clothing. “Good,” he murmured, and then he was flicking Paul's trouser button open, quickly bringing his hand up to spit into his palm before snaking it back down to wrap his fingers around him tightly. 

 

Paul groaned at that first touch, wet and warm, and moved to lie on his back, throwing an arm over his eyes while his other hand clutched at the sheets. Mick shifted too, to get a better angle, and soon he was stroking him expertly, all slippery and tight heat, perfect for Paul to jerk up into. 

  
  


“ _Fuck_.”

 

As incredible as Mick’s hand felt, the rest of him was further away now than when they had started, and Paul missed the feeling of him being close, so he turned his own body back towards him, reaching out to pull him in. The look he received for this effort was bemused, lips quirked curiously, and suddenly Paul realized what he was missing. 

 

Slowly, carefully, he leant in, bringing a hand up to take Mick by the shoulder so he could kiss him. It went well enough at first, soft and warm and easy, but then he felt Mick go tense underneath his hand, hastily backing away before it could go any further. 

 

“There’s no need for that,” he muttered, breathless, but with finality. His eyes lowered, focusing to his hand, continuing to stroke Paul's cock, if a bit perfunctory now. 

 

Paul barely registered the touch anymore. “Why not?” 

 

“Because, I’m just helping you out. That’s all.” 

 

Paul knew that he should be confused, but wasn't sure if he should be embarrassed on top of that. “You don’t…. You mean we can’t just…?” 

 

“That’s usually not how it’s done," Mick explained, exasperated. "Now be quiet and let me finish, yeah?” 

 

“No, wait.” Paul reached down to still his hand. Mick gave him a hard look, but Paul was worried now. “Mick… we’re mates.” 

 

“Yeah, _just_ mates,” Mick corrected. 

 

Paul ignored him. “If you can kiss anyone, it’s me.” 

 

“That’s not how it’s _done_ ,” Mick insisted. “This isn’t… we aren’t starting something here.” 

 

“I know.” 

 

Mick looked taken aback. “Then why would you want to… do that?” 

 

Paul shrugged. “’Cos it’s nice. Right?” He ran a hand through Mick’s too-long hair, a sleep-tangled mess that Paul had to admit suited him. 

 

Mick's eyes closed at the touch, but his eyebrows were knitted together in worry. “You don’t think this is more than what it is? Do you?” 

 

“I know _exactly_ what it is. But I’d feel a lot better going to breakfast with you, and rehearsing, and going out with the others, and, y’know, _looking_ you in the eye again.... If you’d let me kiss you.” 

 

It seemed so simple to Paul, but Mick was still thinking it over. “It makes it more difficult, when you do.” 

 

Paul was taken aback at first by the admission, but then he grinned despite himself. “I’ll try not to be so irresistible, then.” 

 

That earned him a light smack, but Paul managed to catch his hand and hold on to it, bringing it to his lips to just brush his knuckles with a light kiss before letting go. Mick blushed, but after a quiet moment, he shifted in closer. 

  
  


“I can try.” 

 

Paul couldn’t help but smile, and he hoped that Mick could feel it when he kissed him, a little clumsy and wet in his eagerness. He slid his hand to the small of Mick’s back and deepened the kiss, pulling him in closer and coaxing a tiny whimper from him. For a while they were just kissing like that, a slow slide of lips, tasting and pulling back, over and over, Paul minding himself and trying not to push too far. His caution eventually paid off, as Mick began to return his kiss properly, like he had been holding it back, and Paul was the one that had to slow it down with a gentle hand on his chest. 

 

They broke apart, breathless. Mick was blushing again, and Paul was beginning to appreciate the look on him. The sight of him, kissed senseless, flushed down to his neck and panting for air, made him wonder how _he_ looked, if it was as silly as he felt, lying there in a daze over something as simple as his mate kissing him. He decided he didn't really want to think about it as much as he wanted to keep _doing_ it, for as long as Mick would let him, for as long as they had. 

 

“Can I…?” Mick looked down to where their bodies met, where their legs had entwined and Paul had begun to rock his hips idly against Mick’s own growing need. 

 

“’Course. C’mere.” He took Mick’s hand, adding some of his own spit to it before guiding it back to his cock, aching now and twitching helplessly at the touch. He knew it wouldn’t be long, and he let his hips grind deep and slow along with Mick’s hand, groaning and wanting to spill into it badly. 

 

Now when they kissed it was more like fucking, Paul’s tongue matching the way he moved as Mick got him closer and closer. It was all so wet, so slick and hot and sweet, and the specific pressure began to build and replace the vague ache as he fucked Mick’s hand with purpose. He didn’t let up and Mick didn’t slow down, and it wasn't long before he was coming, Mick holding him and letting him ride it out, kissing his neck instead of his mouth so he could get his breath back. He gasped thankfully, happy to come for him, happy that he was the one to hold him together as he fell apart. Grunting, he fucked hard a few more times, until his hips circled deep and nice and slow and he could relax, could pull Mick in to kiss him, and pour out everything that was left. 

 

“ _Mmm, fuck_.” He groaned, low and satisfied, a helpless response to the rush that had taken him over. He was surrounded, lost in the haze of it, from the softness of Mick’s hair at the nape of his neck, to the early morning air, cool and fresh outside of the blanket. Overcome, he surged up to push Mick back onto the bed, kissing him and touching him, running his hands all over his chest and stomach, working him up so that he was rocking helplessly down into the sheets. 

 

Blindly, Paul reached down to fumble his cock free from his pants, finding it hard as a post and somewhat slick already. With a wordless grunt, he tore himself away from Mick's mouth, getting him to lick his palm for him, the light rasp of his tongue sending a shiver all the way back down to his own spent cock. He reached down again, and when he finally took Mick in his hand and started to stroke, he moaned nearly as loud as Mick did, encouragement for him to arch closer and clutch at Paul’s shoulder in desperation. Their voices began to harmonize; Mick’s moans were high and breathless, achingly soft and almost feminine, while Paul’s growls were low and rough, coaxing him along. 

 

Mick gasped and laughed in breathless surprise when Paul moved from his mouth to latch onto his neck, pressing his tongue just under his jaw, where he was sure that Mick would be sensitive. Proving his theory correct when he scraped his teeth over the skin there, Mick squirmed helplessly, and gave up the most arousing, airy sigh that Paul had ever heard. It was almost enough to make him hard all over again, and definitely enough to get his cock twitching in vain where it was pressed into the bed. Paul thrummed from head to toe with eagerness to explore him, to see what other places he could kiss to make him lose control like that. He had to tamp those urges firmly, though, because as long as he had Mick’s cock in his hand and his warm skin under his lips, his goal had to be to make him come hard enough to forget his name - the quicker and rougher the better. 

 

Mick was certainly doing his part to help, straining and writhing, fucking his cock into the tight circle of Paul’s hand. For a while, Paul concentrated on synchronizing his strokes to the grinding of his hips, but soon all that mattered was speed and giving him a tight, slick warmth for him to fuck into. Paul wanted to see him, to hear him, so badly, and he tried a few twists of his wrist, a press of his thumb in just the right spot, a squeeze at just the right time, all to make it sweeter for him. It was all getting so warm, and so intense was his focus, that Paul was taken by surprise when he was finally rewarded with a little hitching cry, and then he was holding Mick as he spurted all over his own shirt, whimpering as he rode it out, his face pressed into Paul’s shoulder. 

 

In awe, Paul refused to let him go until his breathing returned to normal and his body relaxed, and he pushed himself out of Paul's loosening hold to lie flat on his back, throwing both arms over his eyes and stretching his body out to its full length, shuddering as he breathed in deep and slow. 

 

“ _Fuck_ , that was good.” 

 

Paul couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of him, lying there covered in a sheen of sweat, with his cock out and his stomach rising and falling as he caught his breath. Even better was the flush on his cheeks, and the absolute state of his hair, some of it remaining plastered to his temples even after his attempt to sort it out. Admiring his handiwork, Paul grinned to himself with a somewhat inordinate sense of pride, then shrugged one shoulder, attempting nonchalance. “It was just a wank.” 

 

Mick peeked out at him with one raised eyebrow. “Well, you were bloody good at it.” 

 

Paul huffed a short laugh. He reached over to slide a hand under Mick’s shirt, spreading his fingers out over his stomach and pressing lightly. He leant closer, until he knew Mick could feel his breath on his face. “Was there anything else about it that you happened to like?” 

 

Mick raised his arms off his eyes. “Oh, piss off.” 

 

Paul quickly sobered. His hand skimmed lightly over Mick's flank. “I'm happy you let me, you know.” 

 

Mick scoffed and pushed him away. “Whatever. Don’t make it a thing.” 

 

“I’d like to make _this_ a thing.” He stroked down Mick’s stomach to where his cock was lying, spent and soft against his hip bone, and just brushed his knuckles against it teasingly, earning a quiet hiss from Mick. His eyes slid closed, and he rubbed at them with his wrists, the room going still and tightening in on them as Paul waited for him to get to grips with whatever it was that he needed to. 

 

“Fuck it,” he breathed, finally, and then Paul found himself being kissed, with more sweetness than he could have ever expected. He loved it, knew that he would, knew that Mick was making it good just for him, slowing it down and moaning faintly into his mouth. 

 

“’S’nice, isn’t it?” he asked when they broke apart, not enough breath between them to keep going for long. 

 

Mick didn’t answer, except to shove Paul back into the bed and roll over on top of him, then kiss him again while pinning his wrists over his head. When he pulled back, his look was pained, and he rested his forehead against Paul's with his eyes shut tightly. “You better not tell anyone,” he said, low and serious. 

 

Paul tilted his chin up defiantly. “What, that we tossed each other off, or that we kissed while we did it, and you liked it?” 

 

Again, Mick’s response was only to groan and kiss him, hard and bruising, his breath coming harsh through his nose. Paul freed his hands easily from his grip, and moved them to his back, where he could press him down so they were chest to chest, and he could attempt to sooth away some of his worry. 

 

“I won’t tell anyone,” he whispered, before tilting up to catch his lips again, much softer this time. “We’re mates,” he promised. 

 

Mick broke into a fleeting, relieved smile. “That’s what I want,” he said softly. 

 

“I know.” Paul hugged him tighter, then let him go so he could sit upright in his lap. He looked a bit sheepish and shy, like he was unsure of what to do next, so Paul rose up to meet him, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on his chest, letting his breathing push at him gently. 

 

“I’d like a shower,” he suggested, a quiet murmur against his shirt. 

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Join me?” 

 

He could feel Mick swallow, and then nod his head. “Yeah." He cleared his throat conspicuously. "I mean, it makes sense. For the environment, and all that.” 

 

Paul glanced up to see his lips quirk wryly, so he nipped him playfully on the chest. “Cheeky.” 

 

“Says the bastard who's gnawin' on me!” 

 

“But Mick, I just can’t _resist_ you any longer!” he cried, overly dramatic like a love-struck hero in a melodrama. He gripped Mick tight as he struggled to get away, biting harmlessly at his chest and shoulders with comically exaggerated growls. With a yelp, Mick went tumbling out of the bed and Paul tore the covers aside to chase after him into the bathroom. 

 

“Oh, Mick, I _love_ you, isn’t it _awful_ that we can't be together!” he exclaimed, bursting into the doorway theatrically. 

 

Mick just rolled his eyes before bending to turn the shower on and then stripping down matter-of-factly. Paul settled down and followed suit, watching as Mick grew more and more flustered, clearly having an argument with himself. 

 

A moment passed after Paul was completely undressed, then Mick was on him, clinging to him desperately like he was the heroine in the type of film Paul was mocking. 

.

“Oh, _Paul!_ My big, _strong_ man!” he declared, in some truly hideous approximation of a southern American accent. 

 

Paul dipped him semi-gracefully, and at their lowest point, he looked down at him and was unable to resist kissing him. Mick was able to read his eyes and laughed just before their lips made contact, resulting in a clumsy mess of a kiss, and Paul grinning sheepishly as he pulled them back up with a flourish. 

 

As soon as they were upright again, Mick broke free from his arms and slipped away into the shower, too quick for Paul to catch him. He looked back a little shyly when Paul got in behind him and took him into his arms, holding him fast under the patter of warm water. 

 

“What if I tell them about _that_?” Paul teased, his lips close to Mick’s ear. 

 

Mick turned in his arms, looking flushed but otherwise unperturbed. “Go ahead. I’m sure they always suspected _you’d_ be the Rhett and _I’d_ be the Scarlett.” 

 

Paul hummed and set about washing Mick’s hair with the hotel shampoo. “They were in a punk band, too, weren’t they?” 

 

“Yeah, the Bloody Long and Borings.” 

 

Paul stopped what he was doing arranging Mick’s hair into a lathery quiff. He couldn’t think of anything to say to him now, everything still such a rush since the first time they kissed, what felt like only moments before. He still saw his friend standing there, but it was different now... it was better. He wondered wryly if that was what typically happened when you kissed a mate, like it cleared the air somehow, or if that was just a weird thing that they had between them. 

 

“Why are you staring?” Mick asked nervously, turning to go back under the spray and rinse his hair. 

 

Paul ducked his head. “Didn’t mean to. Just got caught up.” He rubbed shampoo into his own hair vigorously, and Mick stepped aside to let him under the water. 

 

“Let’s not worry about it,” Mick offered gently. 

 

“I’m not.” Paul spit water onto the shower floor. “Are you?” 

 

Mick's face went a light pink, but it could have been from the hot water. “No.” 

 

He sounded completely sure, so Paul let himself relax. “Good. Now come 'ere, Scarlett.” 

 

He pulled him close, ostensibly to start washing his back for him. Mick went easily, and if Paul hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed the feather-light kiss that was pressed to his shoulder, so fleeting was it against his wet skin. 

 

But he had been.


End file.
